


flying (ain't what it's made out to be)

by cloudburst



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Again, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: You are in love with the stars in his eyes.---Reyes is flying, again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 2nd person drabble af, thx for reading

You'd always be able to recall the feeling of flight—harsh conditions pushing, melding your path. You'd always be able to recall the exhilaration—the absolute fear stemming from your first time in the black alone. It was what you'd loved. It was the feeling of freedom, of having stars and worlds and opportunities at your fingertips. They were there for the taking, and all you had to do was pilot. ( _On a small scale, of course._ ) All you had to do was make it. You signed onto the Andromeda Initiative to reach those worlds that had always evaded your grasp; they would escape you no longer. You were not their master—would never be—but the Initiative made them your bitch. ( _At least, it could have. It would have, if you'd given it the chance._ )

You smuggled, now, because necessity bred darkness of character. You didn't blame yourself—don't resent yourself for being expelled from the Nexus. You did what you needed to. That's all anyone can ask. 

If you're being honest, you haven't felt this close to flying in 600 years. 

And it's all because of _him._

You can't help but wonder why the one person who makes you fly has appeared now that you're grounded. The realization is like lead in your stomach. _Unpleasant._ You suppose it's a cruel twist of fate, that he is the sun. And he is the stars, yet you are the red earth of Kadara. You must remain, while he finds and finds and finds—searches, and changes the path of so many lives. 

When he kisses you, you're in the deep end of the pool back on earth, toes harshly skimming the bottom before the inevitable drop off; you're lighting a fire, hoping to avoid burning your fingertips. ( _At least, you're out to avoid scarring them worse than they already are._ ) When he kisses you, you're at the controls—crooked grin splitting your face as you dash through the unknown. You hold on so tightly that your knuckles turn white. ( _The controls, you're holding._ ) You will not lose this. 

When he says _nothing's changed,_ you are plummeting toward the surface. You've no need of fancy metaphors to make this feel true; you're flying through time and space as his hand comes to rub along the nape of your neck—thumb moving in a gentle back and forth, comet trail forming beneath his palm. 

He finds you—searches beneath the surface to the constellations beneath your skin. They make you _glow_ he says. And that's cheesy; it's cheesier than your saying you've been hacked, but you couldn't care less, because he's holding you. He's making you feel loved—making love. Because just maybe, you are. You're flying without the flight. There's no complicated technology—no excess knowledge required. You're flying high for the first time since landing on Kadara, and it's all beneath his cracked, sweaty palms. It's beneath the Charlatan to feel this way— _to give in_ —but you find yourself at a divide between yourself and you. So you let him pick you apart; you let him dissect, causing flight, using your heartstrings as a control. You let him pull you in—let him gasp against your neck as if he's standing on the bridge of the Tempest for the first time. He whispers in your ear: _'I've never seen anything more beautiful.'_

And you choke—not literally—but you do, on the flowers blooming in your chest, pushing out the sands of Kadara. You can breathe without delay forced by the clog. You feel light. And _oh, you are in love_. 

You are in love with the stars in his eyes. You are in love with the energy of galaxies you feel pulsing through him. You are in love with the language translated through his touch. You are in love with the way he says your name. 

_'You, Reyes Vidal,'_ he whispers, _'-are an enigma. And you are in love with me.'_

You'd never been one to lie while in flight—it's dangerous—so you nod your head. You're in the black, and he is your guide. 

If you're being honest, you haven't truly flown till now.

**Author's Note:**

> lemme know what ya thankkkk.


End file.
